You know that feeling you get when you feel something really special for the first time? The butterflies...or whatever you should call them. You know? Well, they suck and that's all I have to say about 'em.
You know how you always want what you can't have? The whole "the grass is greener on the other side of the fence" thing? Well, grass sucks. Greener or not. You know why? 'Cause it's all dead now. Winter aproaches and I die a little inside every time it comes. My hair gets frizzy and my mood drops about as quickly as the mercury in the thermometer some days. I'm sorry if I bitch anyone out in the next little while, but pressure's up and tolerance is down. Mid-term-season-number-two is upon us. I'm sad to say that I dropped a class today, too. It was just too much work to keep up with. And now, because of this, I'm forced to take five classes next semester. Suicide anyone? I can barely keep up with what I have now, and I want two more? I'm nuts. Nucking futs. Fucking nuts.
Life is much the same way. One day it's beautiful and everything is looking good, and then the next day, nothing can snap you out of that interminable funk that's swallowed you whole. Speaking of suicide, I learned tonight that the one girl I've always wanted to be (beautiful ballerina is what automatically comes to mind when I think or hear the name Leah because of her) is in the hospital and there's something wrong with her heart. We're not close, let me get that much out. But that doesn't change the fact that I've always wanted to be like her. And then I found out she was bulimic. And in a special treatment centre in Arizona because of it. She was my age at the time. 19 and dying. 19 and killing herself and not knowing it. 19 and stupid. That was a couple of years ago now. I saw her at church shortly after she came back from that place in the desert, and she looked stunning. I'm not even joking. She was just as beautiful as I'd always remembered her, sitting in the audience watching her dance around on her toes. It took all of my consciousness to make myself believe the truth: that she was only two and a half years older than I. People might've seen her as sickly and wasting away at the time, but at the time, we had something in common. Only hers was a lttle more obvious than mine. A little more serious. A little more taboo. No one looks twice when a fat kid loses a whole bunch of weight, but when a skinny ballerina loses even a few pounds, she has an eating disorder. Disorder. How I loathe that term. Especially now.
Well, beautiful ballerina Leah eventually got better and was sent home. She was well enough that her parents and councellor decided that it was a good idea for Leah to get her own appartment and live life on her own terms. And now everyone knows that in those terms, she broke a promise to her parents and to her future. Leah's terms included Bulimia. Again. Damn her to health.
So her parents found out about her terms and I'm guessing they made her move back home, even though they were in the same city the whole time. And in the past few days, beautiful ballerina Leah has collapsed. Probably due to a weak heart. Due to Bulimia. And doctors don't know how long she's going to last. She's 21. And dying. Damn her to health.
And then I found out that one of my best friends from grades 3 through 5 is dying, too. This one from cancer. She's 19, just like me. Maybe 20, but still. Damn her to health, too. The last I heard about Janna, she was moving to Vancouver to get adequate training to swim in the 2010 Olympics. That was grade 5, when she left me. And now she's dying. Can I die too?
I've tried, but I was thwarted every time. The knife. The pills. The knife again. And I'm thankful for it now. Until I hear things like this. Friends are dying. Life is hitting them with the baseball bat of reality. I hate them for not being healthy. And I'm amost certain that my feelings are completely natural at this point, so I'm totally comfortable sharing them with whoever might read this.
Here's my beef. When a fat kid loses weight, everyone congratulates them and tells them how good they look. No one asks about how it happened. At least, no one asked me. And when said weight-loss is governed by unhealthy terms, no one finds out about it because they're all hung up on how good the victim looks. Why didn't they ask? Why don't you ask?
DAMN YOU ALL. I just don't care anymore. How's that for ya?
As I re-read that last paragraph, my eyes were drawn to the advertisements on the far right of the page. "10 Rules of Fat Burning - Lose 9 lbs every 11 days with these 10 easy rules of diet & fat loss." Fuck you, too. Why must you curse me once, leave for what I thought was going to be forever, and now kick me in the ass yet again? I don't care who thinks I'm wrong anymore. I'm done with society. Sure, I'll still wake up, go to school, go to work, and maybe sleep if I have the time, just as I did before, but this time it's all me. I'll still be the friend I was before, don't worry. Some things never change, and that's one of them.
Can't I just starve this sickness out of me?
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